2013-02-28 Counterblow
Cambria Heights is a rather nice part of Queens. It used to be the place to live if you were an immigrant of modest means, now it's the place to live if you're black and of slightly more then modest means. But this place is not the bar those people frequent. In fact this is the bar you go to if you think you could need a job in a particular line of work. The Jamaican gangs recruit from here, as do a few Island run drug rings, a couple of the more militantly run South American governments, one gets the idea. Oddly enough, for such rough and tumble clientele, the decor isn't bad. The tables are nice solid wood with black finished tops, the bar stools all have backs and they swivel soundlessly, stylish trac lighting keeps the place well (but not /to/ well) lit and the new school internet fed jukebox has an almost endless supply of modern and old school tunes. If you're a merc or a thug and you want to pretend you're decent folk, this is where you go for an eatable burger, cold beer, and the best seasoned Cajun fries this side of New Orleans. It also has the added benefit of being about a minutes hard run to the docks where ships are constantly leaving. Word had managed to get through the underground network, contacts of contacts, until it finally reached the ears of one such mercenary that, despite having a spotty work history, is practically something of legends depending upon who is asked. No one else shares her presentation, her demeanor, or her ability to pull the impossible out of nowhere for her own benefit. With previous engagements taken care of she hits the road once more, a completely blacked out BMW M3 devouring the highway miles until she can find somewhere relatively safe to park within Queens. The details hadn't been terribly specific, but the sharks are starting to circle this bar. Could be that there's a tasty little morsel in need of the right operative. That operative may not be Domino. There's the chance that she won't be offered it, or that she'll end up turning it down, but nothing happens if she doesn't step forward and make her presence known. As it is there's faces in this joint that will recognize her. Some of them she'll recognize in turn. Not all of them are pleased to have her anywhere near this place. To hell with those guys. They've got an awesome brown ale at this joint. The door of the bar opens and Jackie steps inside. Traditionally when he enters a room, shadows get shadowier, dim lights get dimmer, things just... react that way to him. But it's seven am, the sun is up, the sky is clear, and a more beautiful day in January in NYC could not be imagined. Unless of course it was warmer then the 32 degrees it is. So... nothing happens. Well, nothing more then a stunningly good looking mob hit man walking through a door anyway. "Jerry!" he calls out, walking past the men who're either still trying to wake up or the others who're just getting a good roll on their daily drunk. Jackie heads over to the bar and hops up lightly in a stool, pulling his gloves off one finger at a time, "You know what I like, you know what I want, and for the love of money and sexy brunettes pour me a cup of your truly hideous coffee would ya? You know, you should consider getting a capucino maker in this place, those things print money everywhere else." His tone is conversational and he makes no move to be quiet, which more then makes him stand out from the rest of the crowd. Most people come here to vanish, Jackie Estacado dosen't do vanishing when he's not on a job. Maybe it is a beautiful day on the outside. In here, as the shadows grow deeper despite the energy this newcomer is projecting? It's a different story. Domino finds it necessary to remove the deep purple shades from her eyes, the latter of which quickly seeks out the bar's newest patron. Noisy fellow that he is. "Oh, fuck me," the woman mutters under her breath. This guy's got a reputation of his own, first and foremost being a killer and being tied very tightly to the Mafia. Is -this- what she came down here for? Is someone trying to set her up to fail again? Ruin her image, maybe try to push her into accepting something that she doesn't agree with? Dom's debating walking out right here and now, but something in the back of her mind stops her. If this -is- the guy, Mafia or not, what would he be looking for? Not an assassination, not when he could handle it on his own. So what, then? Besides that, the guy's a Made Man. If anyone in Queens could have enough cash on hand to catch this woman's interest, it would start with Jackie. Is he the source? If he is, what's the mark and what's the pay? Sure are a lot of 'if's' coming into this equasion. Just like when playing cards, learning to play those around her becomes a useful skill. If the others start to circle, she'll know something is up. A plate of fries covered in a layer of cheese slides to a stop in front of Jackie with a clatter, along with an empty NYPD coffee mug. Jackie chuckles as 'Jerry' the old balding owner with a bad combover and one of the most impressive handlebar mustaches seen since the turn of 2 centuries ago, pours black liquid into it. "Nice touch." Jackie says wryly, eyeing the mug, "This tastes like bacon I'm gonna be pissed." Jerry snorts out a laugh and turns to find a small bowl of creamers and slide them to Jackie too. The left sleeve of Jerry's shirt is folded up and pinned in place at his shoulder, leaving that odd off balance look of an amputee. Even the barman has stories here. "So, what's cookin' these days Jerry? I heard something about you getting yourself a rooskie lady friend. You goin' Commie on me Jerr? I'm not sure if my American heart could stomach it." another amused snort from Jerry, but he points over his head to a picture pinned to the wall behind the bar, and Jackie eyes it while eating a cheesy fry and making a happy noise. "Not bad for a grissled old fart." Jackie admits, eyeing the middle aged woman who, all things considered, is rather handsome in a hardlined way. "I'd watch out for her though, she's got the look of a tiger." This time Jerry's noise is more a growl of agreement and shared misery that all men make. It states simply, 'Women.', without ever saying a word. "You can say that again." Jackie mutters as he reaches for his coffee. That's when cell phones start ringing. Everyone's cell phone. In the room. Even Domino's. Everyone, except Jackie's. Jackie checks his anyway and then looks over to Jerry, "Wow. That's creepy. What's up, someone shoot the mayor or something?" Jerry fishes his phone out of his pocket and glances down at it, then he freezes. Silence begins to fill the room, a deeper silence then there was before, the kind that comes from people not breathing anymore. Jerry turns slowly to eye Jackie, something around his eyes softening ever so slightly. Jackie tenses, "What?" his good natured teasing tone vanishing. Domino's already on edge, pulling recon work on the sly. Having her phone go off, and everyone else's within the room, has her reacting in a flash. The phone's out, the message is received, and her eyes widen ever so slightly. The "Shhhit" that follows is too quiet to be heard, but only barely as the hush falls throughout the bar. All of these people, receiving the same damned message. It's not coincidence. Things are about to get very, very ugly, and she has exactly one second to make a decision on the matter. Make the kill, stay the hell back, or declare war on a bar full of hardasses and mercenaries? For a -Mafia- man. For half a fucking million dollars. She was looking for good pay and excitement, right? Away goes the phone, but only so she can get hold of two 10mm sidearms. First asshole to make a move on her mark... And the second. And third. She's got thirty four bullets ready to find their marks, and it's been proven on many occasions that she can make one bullet do a hell of a lot of work for her. Jerry walks over to Jackie and offers him a slow sad smile under his mustaches and he sets the phone down on the bar, face down. He stares at Jackie, and Jackie lets out a slow breath. "How much?" he asks into the silence. Jerry turns the phone over. Jackie glances down and frowns, "Seriously? That's it?" he sounds genuinely insulted. Jerry blinks. "At yo-" he stops and turns, looking at the windows high on the wall near the ceiling, windows where the morning sunlight is streaming through. He blinks. Then smiles. Then chuckles, "Oh... Yeah." Because during the day he's just a man, and a man worth more then half a mil would raise questions, no matter how good. Jerry continues to stare at Jackie, and Jackie reaches down to sip the coffee, the slurping loud in the silence, then he eats a clump of cheesed together fries. "When I find out who put that out there, I'll make sure to send them to you." he says to Jerry, "To pay for the damages." Jerry looks around the room, his eyes setteling on Domino for a moment (she does stand out after all), and then going back to Jackie. His expression hardens, but a grin slides over his face, the sort of hard grin men of war get when the odds are stacked against them to the point beyond which reason would dictate a mad dash for saftey and instead they stand their ground. The grin of lost souls and lost causes the world over. Jerry's even has a gold front tooth for character. Jackie grins back at him and time stops. Everything happens at once. Jackie drops straight down, his leg kicking the stool out from beneath him even as his hands come up out of his trench coat, a pair of rather compact 9mm's in each hand. Jerry joins him in the drop, only on his side of the bar. That's when the rest of the room explodes into motion, tables are flipped, men dive for booths, one of them (a smart one likely) simply starts to run for the door (he's even smart enough to take his beer with him). The sudden number of rounds being chambered and safties clicking off fills the air with an almost insect like cacophany of subtle noise. Then comes the thunder as Jackie starts a sideways roll. First rule about packing firearms: Always make sure they're chambered. It takes a few seconds for everyone not following that particular rule to get themselves ready, well before the fighting can even begin. Extra seconds which Domino doesn't even need to press the advantage. The itch at the back of her shoulders ignites into a full-blown response, leaping out of her seat as those bulky combat pistols spin around at arm's length. She doesn't bother to aim, there's no time to! It's a dark, target-rich environment. Everyone is a potential enemy, save for one. A mobster which she's taking it upon herself to reach before anyone else. Shots slam through the matte black actions, the integrated compensators helping to push down against the forces of recoil. Bullets tear across the room as the albino throws herself into a sidelong roll, clearing the table she had been sitting at a moment earlier. Catching this woman unaware in a fight is not an easy task, any form of movement prediction completely lost in how she reads and reacts to a combat situation. Glass shatters, wood splinters, drinks explode, a fan gets neatly clipped from the ceiling, brass rains with musical chimes, and people just start to -drop.- She gives this fight approximately nine seconds to resolve itself, start to end. Roy Harper's work prior to joining SHIELD had been working with the Drug Enforcement Agency for the US government. He'd kept a special affinity towards it in watching international drug operations. So when news broke that the Jamaicans were gathering, Roy volunteered to monitor it, quietly and discretely on his own, and that -strictly- speaking, he was not to interfere in anything that was local activity. Just monitor, listen in discretely through a bug that was discretely hidden in one of the Jamaicans' attache case, and gather information. So naturally, when gunfire broke out, it was -Arsenal- who responded to trying to save lives, rather than Agent Harper working on a sting operation, bursting in through a window like some damned fool instead of taking the damned door. Introducing crossbow bolts to the gunfire equation would probably have been damned foolhardy for most people, but Roy Harper wasn't codenamed Arsenal for nothing; as quick a shot as he was and with his accuracy, he aimed to take out the gun hands of several shooters while staying moving quickly, taking advantage of natural obstacles like tables to make his way towards the Jamaicans. Until, of course, he sees a familiar figure headed towards an unknown figure. "Domino?" Roy mouths to himself. No wait, first thing first, secure the safety of the people he -needed- alive for the eventual sting. Men start to drop as Jackie comes to a halt against the far wall with his roll, and his feet push him back and away, sliding him behind one of the downed tables. The man behind it is fighting with his peice, cursing a poor reload for jamming when Jackie appears before him in the slide, "Dude, seriously? Buy retail. Less misfires." he states evenly before two exit wounds turn the back of the man's head into a soup bowl. Using the table for cover, he lays flat behind it, not even bothering to crouch as bullets sthart to chew holes in his cover. Still... thee's an awful lot of bullets and very few holes in comparrison. What are these guys? The worse shooting mooks ever? Jackie sighs, "Never a professional around when you need one." he mutters as he dips his head out for a fast peek. Huh. He blinks. Two of the Rasta's are pinned to the wall with... tent pegs? Nails? Whatever. And there's a lot of guys wounded or blood splatter leaking from behind various other tables and booth benches. Jackie glances at his two guns, one bullet fired from each, then back at the room. He grins maliciously, then pauses, "Naw. No way. Someone else." for a split second he was willing to think his shots had just bounced around and killed all those guys! Very small split. Picosecond really. Then he rolls out from behind the table and and unloads one of the pistols into the center of one of the tables. He stops to check the magazine while the corpse of hte man that was using the table for cover slumps over for all to see, blood pouring down his face. Jackie drops the mag and slides in another, his thumb sending the slide home with a clack. He's not sure how many are left honestly, he's killed two, but there were nearly fifteen guys in the place when this started, but... he's counting at least another ten down for the count. As a gun gets leveled at Domino's head, her skull's suddenly not there. The albino backflips in place and kicks the bottom of the man's pistol, jerking his aim upward when the shot goes wild. At the same moment she's gunning down someone behind her then coming back to her feet with a pair of hollowpoints going into her would-be killer's chest. His wild shot ricochets off the wall and sails back into the room, impacting an airborne bottle which shatters into a rain of booze and a dozen pieces of razor-edged shrapnel, only further distracting other people intent on sending shots in her direction. Another man's pistol jams when a broken piece of the bottle neatly nests itself between the hammer and the back of the slide. He's got just enough time to realize his weapon didn't discharge when it was supposed to before he becomes the next victim, dropping to the floor. Yet another forgot to take debris within the barrel of his own weapon into consideration, the next shot bulging the barrel, jamming the gun, blowing the magazine out of the grip, splintering the slide rails away from the frame, then ejecting the firing pin back into his eye. Down. One more slips on a discarded ashtray, his shot going high into the ceiling, missing everyone. The shell casing ends up getting caught in the collar of another man, hot enough to burn his skin and stick in place. He starts to shriek in surprise when the sound marks him as the next easy target, his anguish ended with another pull of the trigger. Between Domino, Arsenal, and Jackie, these guys don't stand a damned chance. When the blitz comes to an end, it does so with the albino standing her ground with one gun leveled at Arsenal, and one leveled at Jackie. Money talks. A -lot- of money demands. So does Domino. "What the -fuck- are you doing here, Arsenal?" Two crossbows had somehow been drawn into play as Roy -had- to both keep his guys alive and prevent -others- from killing him. So double-bow action it was, as Arsenal slipped his way through the stream, working on eliminating gun action with well-placed bolts through hand or foot or shoulder, anything that kept people from shooting while leaving them alive. Go figure, soft-hearted do-gooder. And somehow, with his guys save, there -she- was, her and her target. "Keeping -my- guys alive. What are -you- doing here, Domino?" Roy answers, one crossbow trained on Domino, and the other on Jackie. Jackie eyes the two of them, one all costumey the other... all face tattooy? He doesn't even care. He puts both his guns away and starts walking for the bar, ignoring the weapons trained on him, "Jerry?" Jackie asks, the barman comes up from behind the bar, a completely illegal leopard gun in one unshaking firm hand. He looks around, frown mightily and grunts. "I'm gonna need a to-go box if you don't mind?" The man puts the gun on the table and fetches styrofoam from under the counter. Jackie tips his plate dropping the fries into it while sneaking a couple. He closes the lid of the container and turns to face the still armed pair, his coffee in hand. "Alright love birds here's the skinny. I have a hit out on me and I don't know your deals, don't care, but you helped out so hooray for me. You help me make it to Jersey or until sundown, there's a hundred grand in it for you, you help me get the guy that's dropped the contract, there's a half mil, all untraceable, all very spendable American currency. Also, I will share my cheese Cajun fries with you in the car on our way to Jersey." he sips his coffee and eyes the two as he leans back against the bar nonchalantly. "So. Who's in and who's a corpse?" This? This is what we call a conflict of interest. Jackie's no longer holding a gun out on either of them, which means that Domino is free to aim -both- of hers at someone whom she had considered an ally up to this point. "Unless -that- guy is -your- guy," she says with a sidelong nod of her head toward Jackie, "then you've got no business left here. -I'm- here to keep -my- guy alive." Yeah, the guy by the bar who's seeming completely oblivious while he's dealing with his to-go Cajun cheese fries? -That- guy. Except-- Wait. Stop right there. Domino sweeps one of her pistols -right- back to Jackie, demanding "The job specified 'alive,' not 'alive and finding the guy behind the contract.' It's not too late for me to walk out of here a hundred grand richer, kid." Easy, something that never fits into a single job description wherever her life is concerned. "Definitely not -my- guy," Roy replies, regarding Jackie with a curious look, before lowering both crossbows. Not that he couldn't re-aim quickly, they didn't call him 'Speedy' in a previous costume for nothing. "All I know is, I'm supposed to be keeping an eye on..." Roy glances towards the Jamacians. "So, another job, Domino?" Might as well find out what was going on here first, and the easiest way to do this? Just go for the talk till he could figure what was going on, beginning with who was after this -guy- and why. Jackie nods his head at Domino, "Yup." he states, "You could take your chances with that. But one, Jerry here would pull those triggers, and at this range the spread on those barrels? No where to dodge gorgeous, and secondly, you'd never be welcome in New York again. Unless of course you think you can dodge Francetti forever." he grins wider. People in the know, know that name, and it scares them. Francetti's Family has been running one of if not the largest section of NYC since before Five Points had a name. "And if you can't come to New York, what's the point of being alive anyway?" he asks, popping the last stolen fry in his mouth. He chews it happily and then wipes his fingers clean on a napkin. "I don't know who you are beautiful, but the whole gun chic and pale skin thing is really working for me right now. Don't spoil it." He stands up the rest of the way and tosses the napkin aside before tucking the to-go container under his arm. He holds out his hand and Jerry, without question, hands the leopard gun over grip first. Jackie nods his thanks, "I'll send Butcher to clean up Jerr, keep people from poking about to much. Sorry about this mess. Consider yourself off the books until this is all sorted out, I'll work it out with Uncle Frankie, he'll see you straightend out, promise." he offers Jerry a warm smile, "So long as the fries keep coming that is." he nudges the tough old man with an elbow then starts walking for the door, crazed TV gun in one hand, to-go in the other, "So, who's coming? I feel I should warn you, my car's a little... cramped." Shit. Shit shit -Shit.- Domino's already in a bad situation, made all the worse by the second. Harper's here. A counter-offer's on the table. Mysterious stranger, or helping the New York Mafia? It's not too late to walk away... And ditch half a million. That's damned good money. Worth it for dealing with the mob, one way or another? "Just--stow it, Arsenal," she growls while dropping the hammers with a slight upturn of her sidearms, holstering them a moment later. "This isn't your business." -Clearly.- "Now I'm about to go make another very stupid and highly uninformed decision for the sake of an adrenaline rush and another stupid large sum of money. You heard the man, you've got an idea of what's about to go down. Now is the time for you to put some distance from this part of town and forget this ever happened." Yeah, because -that's- worked out with you before. "Hold on... you're going to -piss off a Mafia boss-? By -yourself-?" So yes, Roy's aware enough of what was going on. And while she was -right- that it was none of his business, on the other hand... he rather -liked- Domino and wouldn't enjoy seeing her -dead-, which is why Roy does the stupid thing, and -doesn't- clear out. Instead, he trails behind her, trying -some- sort of reason to not do something so headstrong. Which, considering -his- own nature, was rather like Hugh Hefner preaching chastity. "Are you kidding? You're gonna do something -that- crazy? Hell... think, Domino! That's the whole fucking MOB you're gonna be dealing with if that's the case!" Pause. Eyeroll. Fuck codenames. "I'm not -stupid,- Harper," Domino quickly counters. "This guy's offering a -helluva- lotta money for help getting outside of the city. Whoever put the hit on his crazy ass can suck it, I'm not about to bring the entire mob down on top of my head." She has enough sets of crosshairs to dodge, already. Her pace is brisk as she catches up to the departing target in question, mentally asking herself if this is the right course of action with every step she takes. It's stupid. It's crazy. It's borderline suicidal. She could be on good terms with the Mob. -That- might prove problematic with her currently forming alliances. Oh, to hell with it all. It's -her- life. She can deal with whatever consequences come her way. For half a million? Yeah, she's on top of that shit. Without warning she stops and spins around, positively glaring back at Roy. "Here's how this is going down. That man is leaving the city. I am personally going to make sure that happens. Don't get in my way." And hopefully these two won't have any problems. "Right, money doesn't matter -that- much, and..." Roy begins to nod in agreement. At least until Domino changes her mind. Neck snapping up nearly audibly, Roy blinks. "... Wait, what...? Are you -nuts-? You're gonna, just you and him... gonna saunter all the way out of the city, and expect to -stay- alive the whole time? If they catch up to you..." Roy makes a cutting gesture across his throat. "And that'd be the -nicest- thing they could do to you." Clearly Dom doesn't have the patience for this. As she stares you down she's automatically reloading her pistols, holstered as they are. She's got the ammo to spare, though it only does her any good if it's in the weapons, themselves. "Have you ever known me to make a sane decision when the impossible is an option?" she challenges. "Sure, let's just up the odds even further while we're at it! I don't have time for this, we can discuss it on the way." Without warning she reaches out and latches onto your bicep, suddenly intent on -dragging you along.- "SHIELD is going to love this shit." Half a million. Roy's a liability. Clock's ticking. Lucky her. "Oh hell... I must be crazy..." Roy replies, allowing himself to be dragged along. Reaching into his phone, Roy calls. "... Hello, Lian? Daddy loves you, call Mia and tell her she has to watch you for a bit, will you please?" There's a brief pause as Roy listens. "Yes, Daddy has to work again." Another pause. "Yes, okay, I'll bring back a souvenir. A... uh... lucky cat? Uh huh... love you too." Click. "Fine, you crazy woman. Maybe while we're at it, we can break up -that- mob too..." "You have a -daughter?-" Dom suddenly asks the instant the call's over and you break from speaking. "Today just keeps getting better." Next: 8 Hours to Sunset Category:Logs Category:RPLogs